This poem is taken from Stand 230, 19(2) June - August 2021.
Death of the cherry blossom
It is our house and it is not our house.
White patio doors; neat emerald grass.
I’m trying to save something. I can’t see what it is.
You are in the living room, behind glass.
Our daughter is beside you. Her face is blurred.
...
White patio doors; neat emerald grass.
I’m trying to save something. I can’t see what it is.
You are in the living room, behind glass.
Our daughter is beside you. Her face is blurred.
...
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are already a member and have not received your login details, please email us, including your name and address, and we will supply you with details of how to access the archived material.
If you are not a member and would like to enjoy the growing online archive of Stand Magazine, containing poems, articles, prose and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are already a member and have not received your login details, please email us, including your name and address, and we will supply you with details of how to access the archived material.
If you are not a member and would like to enjoy the growing online archive of Stand Magazine, containing poems, articles, prose and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
